


Sleepy time herbal tea

by Catharrington



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Literal Sleeping Together, M/M, Miscommunication, Mutual Pining, Nightmares, Roommates, Soft Billy Hargrove, Steve Harrington Has a Crush on Billy Hargrove
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:13:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25537138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catharrington/pseuds/Catharrington
Summary: Steve gets a new dorm mate named Billy that has some trouble sleeping, some painful nightmares. He reaches out to help in what little way he can. Helps just by being there, really. But he doesn’t expect gentle hands to reach back out to him. Cupping him warmly, like a lullaby, like a cup of hot tea.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 8
Kudos: 183





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> These chapters are three different prompts sent in to me from the sleepy prompt list on tumblr. I of course, got super long winded and attached to this au and just kept writing way more. Thank you for putting up with me, hope you enjoy ;)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompts requested: 26/“I know it’s embarrassing I still sleep with a Night light” && 40/“It’s just a nightmare, it’s nothing real.”

Steve was warned about Billy Hargrove from the second he got the college’s Email listing his new roommate. Whispers about how he’s a jerk, walks around with no shirt on, maybe no pants, leaves beer cans crushed around his room. The type to hang a sock on the door knob to let you know he’s busy.

Steve braced himself as he packed up and moved into his senior dorms. The boxes of his sparse belongings and heavy books itching on the palms of his hands.

Billy Hargrove ticked off a box as soon as he opened the door. He was laid out on his already claimed bed, kicking his legs so his cotton exercise shorts rode up his thick thighs; and he was shirtless. Steve’s eyebrows shot up into his hairline as he took in curling muscles tanned glittering copper. Still sticky, still sweating with it. Like he just got back from riding his golden chariot laps around the sun.

Steve moves his eyes to his small desk at the foot of the one unclaimed bed. Sets his box down hard like he stumbled, when really it was more to try and wake himself up.

“Hey,” he turned around all practiced plastic ease, running a hand through his messy hair he knows he’s let grow out way too long. It’s curling over the bottoms of his ears. Billy’s eyes flick down to follow the movement. “I’m Steve Harrington,” he introduces himself.

Billy leans back more on the bed. His abs flexing. He licks his lips, replies, “Billy Hargrove,” like he’s doing Steve a favor.

Steve takes his hand back that was outstretched, that’s just fine with him not getting burnt. He glances around the small room a few times just to take it in.

Their beds are parallel to each other running along either wall, at the foot of each bed is a desk and matching bookshelf, and separating them like a line in the sand is a floor length window that looks out to the campus. Billy’s got a couple band posters up, one of just some guys crotch in leather pants, the other a sunny yellow Cerberus foaming at the mouth. And a hot to the touch lava lamp sitting alone on top his bookcase.

Steve doesn’t have more than him, maybe he’s got a little less. Where Billy has his posters Steve leaves his wall blank, but where Billy’s bookcase is comfortably filled with reading material, Steve’s wood threatens to give out under the weight of his medical textbooks. Stacks and stacks of hard bound bricks take the space quickly, some on one side of his desk crowding his laptop and some even making a pile on the floor under his bed.

“Nursing?” Billy asks the second day they are existing in the same space.

Steve’s the one lounging out on his bed, highlighter behind his ear and hair pinned back with a thick clip so it doesn’t bother his studying. Hasn’t gotten it cut quite yet, doesn’t know if he ever will while Billy keeps taking long glances at it.

Billy’s talking to him over a Mark Twain novel as if Steve’s more interesting. “Yeah,” Steve shrugs, feels a blush rising at the attention, “want to do something important. Figured it would help people.”

“Must be pretty smart for that?” Billy’s eyes are a pretty shade of blue. Like the sky.

“I mean- I guess I am? but nah, more like,” Steve’s stuttering, “It’s really just lots of memorization. Remembering terms and locations- that I’m good at. When it comes to getting creative I fall flat on my face,” he laughs.

Billy laughs with him, simmering into something warm and sunny. They go back to their books and it’s not until next week Steve picks up that Billy’s a Language Arts major in creative writing. He feels like he’s shoved his foot in his mouth maybe a tad, but doesn’t want to ask.

He’s laying awake in bed thinking about it, letting his eyes wander over the spines of all of Billy’s bookcase in the low light and wondering what he writes. He’s never seen him write. When he hears him for the first time.

It’s just a low groan, a pained noise starting in his chest and dripping from an open faucet slowly through his gritted teeth. Sounds like he’s hurt, sounds like he’s scared. 

The lava lamp is molten next to his bed casting him in a glow of fire that burns his copper skin until it melts fat drips of sweat across his forehead to his pillow case. The noise gets louder, Steve lifts himself to one elbow, waits for a second as it gets louder still, then right as Steve’s gripping his blanket… Billy stops.

He exhales, twisting in his bed to kick his flat sheet into a pool around his hips. Steve doesn’t know it but he exhales too. Lays back down and grips his blanket to his chest as he watches Billy’s naked chest rise. The sweat dry on his skin.

Steve doesn’t know when he passed out but when he wakes up he’s alone in the room, and the lava lamp is turned off.

He found it annoying once, just once, to have the whole room washed in tones of red every night. Reminded him a little of his pool back home in Hawkins and how the blue light clung to his bedroom window like fungus. How he used curtains and blankets to drown himself in pitch black. But that never helped, and this red light seemed to be something Billy takes comfort in.

At the very least, comfort in a scheduled way. An hour before he sleeps he sips at a beer chilled in their shared mini fridge, Steve using his shelf for protein bars and Billy using it for a six pack that never runs out, leaning over his desk while his rippling back muscles block Steve from seeing what he’s doing. What he’s writing, Steve imagines again, his fingers lightly playing over his laptop as he listened intently to pen against paper even louder than his keys clacking.

But louder still, louder than the crushing of beer cans or the rush of blood in Steve’s head as he watches Billy from the corner of his eyes strip to his boxers to go to sleep, is the volume of Billy’s groans keeping him awake at night.

They are sporadic and every couple days, some dismissable, but some worse. Steve struggled with ignoring them when he knows he can’t. Knows his eyes are fixed on the way Billy’s strong rib cage flutters under his skin as he gulps for air. Watching mute as Billy’s stocky fingers rolls his sheet up to cover his neck, just to bring it back down.

The red light is on. The lava is moving shapes around the room. Shadows that are crawling mad like a pack of wild dogs to get to Billy. He groans and growls and fights back before he exhales. Always the same. Steve exhales himself now, counts the seconds until Billy’s rib cage jumps return to normal. Wonders briefly, if he should be using his nursing schooling for this.

He’s forced to, quicker than he wanted to, still scared to get burnt by that copper skin. But it’s two months they’ve been living together. Two months of nightmares and red lights. Never sleeping and drinking too much coffee. Two months of Steve laying awake cataloging, highlighting, memorizing, the way Billy’s hips turn inwards sometimes when he dreams in the exact motion of getting kicked in the ribs.

It’s on this day, this red lit night, that Billy doesn’t groan. His snarls soften to whimpers before they even start. Billy doesn’t wiggle as if he’s fighting back, he simply reaches out one hand, towards the middle of the room. Into the streaks of light the cheep curtains over the window lets in. His fingers curl in a begging way, reaching out.

Steve closes his eyes, tries to ignore when he knows he can’t. Listens for the symptoms of it slowing down and stopping but they never come. He opens his eyes only to notice Billy’s crying. Fat drops of tears look molten lava down his pretty face. Turning his golden freckles to tar with their tracks. Billy’s hand stays out, grasping, fingers clawing.

Steve lifts himself up on one elbow. Moves his blankets off his body with one arm. Sinks down to the ground in his soft flannel pajamas and worn high school basketball tshirt and kneels by the edge of Billy’s bed. Steve gathers Billy’s begging hand up in his own, intertwining their fingers together and clutching flushed hot skin to his chest.

It takes a moment for Billy to wake up. Steve slouches against Billy’s bed, using their joined hands to hold his chest up while his other hand moves to ginger colored curls. He tucks one behind Billy’s ear. Let’s his fingers graze over the metallic skin flushed and burning blood red, let’s it light his skin on fire. Steve runs his hand from Billy’s chin to his chest, tracing the hammered sword edge of his collar bones as they vibrate with the noise of his whimpers.

Steve presses the length of his fingers to Billy’s skin until he doesn’t vibrate. Until his breath is evening out. Steve’s doing his job, helping, trying not to get burnt. He watches with a medical detachment until blue eyes flutter open. Then Steve’s breath is hitching.

“Steve,” Billy mutters, his voice raw. His blue eyes glance around them for a moment, taking in the way Steve’s got his hand and whole arm possessively tucked under his body weight and the way his feather light fingers haven’t lifted from his skin. Still pressing his collar bones just with the fat of his fingers, as if he’s steadying himself to press down ivory piano keys.

“Steve?” Billy repeats his name in a question. Then he lifts one hand to drag across his face in embarrassment, and when he moves the rainfall of sweat collected there he seems to get it.

“I’ve been noticing these are happening frequently, but this is the severest they’ve gotten yet.” Steve explains in a calm voice he thinks his emergency response professor could be proud of.

“You’ve been noticing shit bout me, pretty boy?” Billy coos back.

Steve’s tone of voice crumbles. “You’re very loud, y’know?” and it’s more like a squeak.

“Sorry,” Billy lets the word roll loud and heavy from his chest. He turns like he wants to pull away. Wants to hide and pretend it’s normal, most likely. Steve doesn’t think he’s done holding Billy’s arm.

“Don’t have to be sorry about nightmares. Everyone gets them.” Steve traces collar bone to shoulder, runs over the swollen curves of his biceps to his glowing red arm wrapped in his own. Cuddles up to Billy’s arm like his pillow left forgotten on his bed. He folds himself over more in a way he should be called crazy for, doesn’t seem to have the energy to care. He hasn’t been sleeping much. Hasn’t been sleeping at all.

“It’s just a nightmare,“ Steve continues. His chin bumping into tanned skin with every word, “it’s nothing real.”

“It was real once,” Billy whispers out. Blurts the words quick. His swollen red eyes move to watch Steve’s reaction. His emergency response professor would be proud in the way Steve only gave a gentle smile in reply. Prompting for more with a nod.

Billy reads him, line for line, before he continues on. “My old man used to get drunk, take a whiskey bottle by the neck and just swig until he felt like a different man. He used to stumble into my room and remind me I ain’t shit. I wasn’t wanted. I was forgotten and I’ll always be forgotten,” Billy’s talking like he’s not paying attention to his words. He closes his eyes and turns as he speaks, rolls this time towards Steve. Bubbles him in with hot skin and melted tears and intertwined fingers finally tightening their grip.

“Sounds like you’re a survivor, Billy. You’ve lived and grown. It’s okay to be afraid, it’s okay to remember, but in this dorm he isn’t real.” Steve notices the way Billy’s crying again. He hopes it’s not because of him. “You are safe now. Here, you are safe. No one is coming in that door.”

And Steve really hasn’t had much course on therapy for trauma survivors, other than the symptoms of shock. He can set a broken bone and stitch a cut, give CPR, but for this he stops blowing dust off his piles of text books. He doesn’t care what his professors think, he’s biting his lip as he worries unprofessionally about Billy understanding how safe he is. How much Steve won’t let that happen again. How much he wants those blue eyes to open up, washed garnet gemstones in the lamps light and sparkling just as brilliant with his crying.

How Steve wants only to pet across that skin until the motion settles him and the shadows of lights from the boiling lava stop appearing as wild dogs.  
Turn into clouds shifting though a sunset sky. Turn into safety.

Billy opens his eyes. They find Steve’s easy in the dim light. “I know it’s embarrassing I still sleep with a night light,” he says playfully.

Steve laughs back. Turning his eyes down before looking back up. Catching those eyes anew always seems to take his breath away. He must be burnt a special shade of crimson under this light. “It’s not embarrassing. Lava lamps are hip, very retro cool,” Steve teases.

Billy rolls his eyes, but he’s tugging on Steve’s arm and motioning with a tilt of his impossibly sharp jaw bone towards the bed. “Wanna get up off the floor? Pretty boy like you shouldn’t have such dark circles. People are gonna think I’m,” he trails off, lets his eyes scan over Steve’s faded tshirt once before flicking back to his in a way that made Steve’s eyelashes flutter.

“I’m abusing you or something in here,” Billy finishes.

Steve smiles, not a smile to produce comfort or reassurance; but just smiles because he’s happy. He lifts himself from the floor enough to scoot into Billy’s narrow twin size bed with him. Billy doesn’t move his arm Steve has basically claimed. Steve doesn’t get his pillow from his own bed, so he keeps a hold of the well crafted bicep to use as a pillow.

This close Billy smells sweaty, there’s beer on his breath, but there’s also something earthy. Pressed paper that holds the smell of ink, and leather, and trees.

Steve runs one hand up Billy’s chest and gets his hand back on his collar bone, while Billy reaches out a hand slower and almost hesitantly until he’s pushing Steve’s messy hair off his forehead. Billy gathers up silky locks in his large well worn hand before tucking them behind Steve’s ear. His thick fingers follow the way it curls under his ear. Billy follows the way Steve’s soft skin gets softer behind his ear and around to the back of his neck.

There he lets his hand rest, cupping Steve’s long neck as if it was the most natural thing to do.  
While Steve kept his hand right next to Billy’s pulse. Examining for a flutter as they slept that thankfully never came.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompts requested: 7/“I’ve been living off of coffee for two days I deserve to sleep!” && 29/“I have had nightmares every night for the past three weeks and now they’re gone because of you, how did you do that?”

The days of Billy’s and Steve’s dorm room didn’t really change. The nights, however did. The light of the lava lamp stayed churning and bright while Billy slept, and Steve’s eyes stayed bright and open reflecting that light back. 

Billy did it without asking permission, he just waited until Steve left for breakfast that first morning, which consisted of a dry bagel he’s too lazy to open properly and a tall cup of black coffee. He snagged a banana nut muffin for Billy because he seemed like a muffin guy. 

Steve came back into the room and stopped short. The beds have been moved together, Billy’s skidded across the floor to push Steve’s between the wall, and Billy was currently twisting their desks to be side by side as well on the other wall. 

The first thing that came to Steve’s head was that he didn’t mind, he really didn’t. Most nights found him sitting up in bed yerning to touch Billy from the feet separating them anyway, so that part he didn’t mind. 

He didn’t even mind watching Billy as he struggled with the piles of books he was carefully carrying to their new area. Muscles flexing under the heavy stacks as he moved to lean them on Steve’s desk legs. Huge grin on his face as he set the books down before wiping his hands on the back of his cut off jean shorts. 

Steve sucked his bottom lip into his mouth as he watches Billy’s naked chest heave, his crystal blue eyes dart around bashfully, and his thighs flex under the frayed edges of his shorts. 

Then Steve huffed out, letting go of his lip with a wet pop, and brought the paper shopping bag from the cafeteria to lay on Billy’s desk. Now right next to Steve’s, maybe half a foot between the wood. 

Now, as Steve simply sat studying, he could reach out and run his hands over the leather bound journals tucked neatly into the corner of the desk. He could watch from the corner of his eyes as Billy furiously scribbled in the nighttime. He couldn’t block the view with his wide back anymore. He wondered if Billy even realized. 

Steve swallowed, willing those thoughts away, as he took a step backwards. 

“You got me something?” Billy asked while flicking open the bag and searching through it. He pulled the muffin out, smirking, then took a bite as big as his mouth would allow him. 

Steve sat at the foot of his own bed, careful not to touch Billy’s messy one. “Hey, watch out for that wrapper. I know how to stop you choking but you won’t like it.”

Billy laughed, crumbs covering his desk, “thanks, man,” he mumbled. 

Steve sipped his coffee. Kept his eyes on the ground as he timidly spoke up. Talking so his lips skidded across the plastic lid. “So, this is a thing now? You’re okay with us- uh, Sleeping together?”

Billy choked on the last bite of his muffin, scraping it off the wrapper with the bottom of his teeth and struggling to keep it down. He balled the oil dotted paper in his fist to dump in their small trash can. 

“Sure, pretty boy, wouldn’t mind a warm bed,” he shrugged, a lopsided grin. He took a second to hold his practiced devil may care pose, watching Steve who only kept statue still. He couldn’t form words around his tight throat. A part of him wanted to dump his coffee over his own lap and burn himself. Before he could, Billy’s hands dropped with a heavy sigh. 

”That was a dumb joke. Of course we won’t be sleeping together, Steve, if you’re worried about that shit. I’m not tryin to force you or anything-,”

“Wasn’t suggesting that,” Steve interrupted him before he got farther. Blame it on the coffee, blame it on the cut off denim shorts, Steve is feeling hot under his skin. Taking cold breaths hissed through his nose. 

The idea that Billy wanted him that way was dumb, he gets a guy one muffin and he expects him to put out. Maybe it’s those stupid rumors about Billy Hargrove weighing too hard on Steve’s mind. Socks on door knobs, a sign to not disturb. 

“I know you didn’t mean to suggest that. It’s just, Steve...,” Billy trailed off. His tanned fingers playing with the copper tinted brown bag from the cafeteria absentmindedly. Flicking along the jagged edges. “I have had nightmares off and on for the past three years and now they’re gone because of you, how did you do that?”

Billy’s voice was vulnerable. The same it sounded last night. The same it sounded when Steve daydreamed about him. 

Shrug, that’s the only thing Steve could think to do. It was true, he didn’t know about phycology or nightmare therapy or anything romantic like that. He simply knew how to be there for people.

“I just,” he started. All the admissions of how he was worried sick like a damn Mom feel gross in his throat. The way he wanted to admit ‘I’m worried about you, so worried about you I want to spoon you every night until you fall in love with me’, really felt gross. 

“I just,” he started again, “wanted to help.”

And Billy smiles and Steve looks back to the ground, burrows his nose back into his coffee. Drinks more to stay awake. 

That wasn’t much of an answer, but they’ve got morning classes to get to. 

He collects some of his books. Rearranging them from where Billy shuffled them out of place. Shoved two in a messenger bag and left with a meek wave. Billy was only then slipping a shirt on, wasn’t that a shame. 

Steve’s classes were foggy. They were secondary to what’s on his mind. The evenness of Billy’s breath as he breathed through his softly parted lips into the red tinted night. The comfortable grasp on the back of his neck. Those fingers twisting and knotting into his hairs like he belonged. Like he’d done it a thousand times and would do the same a thousand more. That stayed playing on loop while Steve scratched notes into the margins of his books. 

It was more muscle memory than anything carrying him through the hours, for that he was grateful. It felt like a click of a movie frame and he was back in his dorm room. Tapping the plastic of his ball tip ink pen against the white pages as he circled and circled what he needed to write about. An assignment paper laying out on his desk mocking him. Steve groaned, moving his elbow to cover the assignment. 

The door clicked open later that night just enough to let Billy slip back in. Steve was still slouched at his desk. His ass numb from sitting so long. But as Billy grabbed the hem of his shirt and ripped it off the way he’d done plenty of times before made his back rigged. 

Steve kept his nose down. Tried to ignore the way Billy brushes his fingers through his hair to pull it into a top bun. One hand slipping down the cord of the lava lamp to flick it own with a soft click. Ignores the way he sinks into the bed with a comfortable sigh. Ignores the way eyes linger on his rim rod straight back. 

“You gonna,” Billy trails off his soft voice into the fluff of his blankets. 

“Nah, I’ve got... a paper, I have to get stared,” Steve stammers out. 

Behind his back Steve can hear Billy hum, shuffle around a little bit, then fall quiet. Steve gives it a count of 60 seconds before he turns around. Billy’s rolled on his side so his back is to Steve. Facing Steve’s empty bed. Curls sparkling where they are tied up in place of his golden crown, tanned skin washed burgundy in the low light. He can see the way his shoulder blades flex under each breath growing steadier as he evened out to sleep. 

Turning back to his open text books, Steve tapped out that pattern with the click of his pen. 

And he stayed like that for hours, until the sun filtered through the curtains diffusing the harsh red glow. And then he scurried off to breakfast just as Billy and his wild curls were sitting up. And Steve grabbed the biggest coffee, again. 

The day went by in a blur, caffeine blur, finding Steve trudging along the campus half asleep but mostly awake. Settling into his desk when he got back felt like second nature. Felt safe. He pushed his hands through his hair and stayed hunched over until the door knob rattled. 

Steve tried to lay out his notes and books before Billy stepped in the door, he wasn’t sure it worked all the way. Especially unsure with the pursed lips and furrowed brows Billy was pointing at him. 

“Hey,” Steve greeted, casually. 

“Still working on that paper?” Billy asked. And god, he remembered the lie. 

Steve bit his lower lip, shrugged with a flurry of his hands, then reached for his coffee to take a swig. “I, uh, I haven’t even started yet.” The blank paper laid across the glossy text book photos laughing up at him. “Kinda nervous about it. Don’t wanna mess anything up.”

Billy let his backpack drop. Bent down to open the mini fridge with a hiss, cracked open the top of his beer with a louder hiss. He was watching Steve in the easy way he does, just casually and pretty, making Steve nervous under those blue eyes. 

“You won’t mess anything up,” Billy says with a breathy, light tone. His lips smacking. 

Steve keeps his head down as Billy goes to stand next to his own desk, like he’s weighing in his mind what to do. One hand flexing over the back of his desk chair, the leather bound books untouched. Steve swallows a bitter aftertaste in his mouth. 

Billy sits down and pulls one book to start writing. Steve pulls his own assignment sheet out and tries to focus on that. Yellow tipped highlighter scratching at the important lines. But next to him Billy writes and writes, takes a long gulp of his beer, then writes more. 

And Steve can’t focus, his mind blurring at the edges and fading away. The noise raspy and quiet. The repetitiveness sending shivers down his spine. His limbs ache. His eye lids feel heavy, dropping half closed. The action of blinking taking longer and longer until his eyes are simply closed. Chin tucked down against his chest so he can feel the scratchy beard starting to grow there. 

Then Billy’s pen stops, his leather bound book snapping closed with a woosh. His beer can crushing with a loud crackle in his fist and that noise jerks Steve awake. He hadn’t known he dozed off. 

“You gonna,” Billy’s voice sounds funny, muffled in cotton, when really he’s standing right over Steve’s shoulder. 

Steve catches his breath. Fingers digging into his eyes to scratch the sleep from them. Under him, his paper still lays blank. He knows Billy can see it. “I, uh, if I don’t finish this then I’m a goner, really important for this class, y’know,” he chuckles out. Pushes the words one by one. 

Billy’s humored, not by much, but he is. His thick dark brows twisted over his eyes. On one of them there’s a missing patch of hair from a scar, maybe. Steve finds himself staring at that. Wanting to run his fingernail across the soft skin. 

“Sure, I get that,” Billy laughs back. 

Steve turns back to his paper, wipes at a wet spot of droll on the corner, then he blinked. And he moved his whole body to the next day. All of a sudden he was in line for the cafeteria. Asking for a muffin and tall black dark roast, no cream or sugar, thanks. 

He was in his class copying down notes he forgot as soon as the ink left his pen. And then, like his shirt was hooked on a huge clock hand, he moved right back to his dorm room desk. Right next to Billy. Who was back before him. 

He was laid out across both beds, his head on the wall and legs crossed at the ankle. A hard bound book laying down flat on his stomach as Steve stumbled in. 

“Hey,” he greeted, timidly. 

“Buddy,” Billy spoke in a question. 

It took Steve a second to realize that. He set his bag down and hummed over his shoulder, blinking a few times. 

“Steve, have you slept? Like, at all?” Billy looked so comfortable on the bed. His lips turned up in an easy smirk. He knew the answer, still he asked.

“I’ve got this paper-,”

“You haven’t slept for two days and you also haven’t written anything in two days.” Billy took a second to lick his lips. “Do you want some help, man?”

“Help?” Steve squeaked, ”some help- with what?”

“Writing,” Billy laughed. “Your paper? Need help with an interesting opening line? What’s it even about?”

Steve gulped. Picked up his cardboard cylinder filled with coffee flavored oil to take a long gulp. “Ah,” he started, picking words right from the top of his head to lie, “it’s about the affects of sleep deprivation on the body.”

“Is it?” Billy asks, really asks, lifts one brow like he can’t believe it. 

Steve nods his head, once then twice a little more furiously than needed. His greasy hair moving with the action, fluffing up into even more of a birds nest. He must really look like a mess. “Yeah, I mean, yes,” he notices Billy’s face not moving, and something tingles in Steve under those unmoving eyes, “actually, no, it’s. No, it’s not about that. Like at all.”

Steve slumps into his desk chair. Can’t look at Billy. Wants to ditch the coffee to take a long gulp off Billy’s beer. 

He burrows his face into his hands and slumps forward. 

He doesn’t hear the beds creak, doesn’t hear bare feet shuffling forward to stop right behind his chair.  
Two heavy hands lay over his back, thick fingers curling over his shoulders. He can feel the way his muscles are tense and get even firmer with the soft touch. His shoulders involuntary moving up and in. Billy shushes him, hums low in his throat a comforting noise that shoots right through the back of Steve’s unbrushed hair to his brain and down his spine. 

“You helped me right, let me help you?” Billy whispers right into Steve’s ear. 

And Steve’s forcing down a moan, curling his hands into fists and biting down on one knuckle hard. He feels those fingers move just an inch, Billy’s thumbs making a half circle on the top knob of his back. 

“You can sleep tonight, next to me, and then start on the paper bright and early. Bushy tailed.” Then like he’s creating an example he moves his hands heavy up Steve’s narrow neck, pushing his fingers into the wavy hairs there and fluffing them out. Working thick tanned calloused fingers into the firm muscles. Then down, down, working in small circles, down to between Steve’s shoulder blades. 

Billy lays his hands palm flat and swipes them over to curl back around Steve’s shoulders. Then he repeats the same motion, and Steve whines low in his throat as he lets his head fall limp forward. 

Let’s Billy have every inch of him he is willing to touch. Let’s him go as far as he is willing to do, because Steve is willing to stay here all night, but he knows Billy’s touch is only for another minute maximum. 

“You should sleep, pretty boy,” Billy whispers again, right as his hands run through Steve’s long hair. 

“Like I said, don’t want people to think I abuse you in here, or somethin’.”

Steve nods, listens. He feels those hands move away. Wants to whimper again from the loss. Wants to turn around and nuzzle into Billy’s palms like a cat. Instead, he turns and crawls onto their combined beds. Stripping his shirt and shuffling off his jeans as he went. Dumping them off the side before fitting under the blankets. 

The overhead light turns off, and there’s a small flick that brings the lava lamp to life. The curling clouds of the lava heating up and beginning to move making shadows on the wall that pushed his eyelids right down. Steve’s got his eyes closed as Billy climbs into bed. 

“Better?” He asks. Makes Steve shiver as his breath is close enough to feel. 

“I’ve been living off of coffee for two days I deserve to sleep,” Steve muttered without thinking. Billy snorted a laugh at him, his nose making a cute little nose that makes Steve fall just that much harder. 

Billy moves the blankets up around them both, scoots so he’s got Steve safe between the wall and his body, and lifts one hand to palm the back of Steve’s neck. Curls his fingers, brushes his hairs softly. Lovingly. 

Steve thinks he might hear the words, “you deserve the world, pretty boy,” but he might just be hallucinating from a caffeine overdose. 

Drifts off to sleep thinking about how their night light changes the colors of Billy’s blue eyes, and how the sunset changes the colors of the ocean waves.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompts requested: 3/“Don’t be nervous, you can come closer” && 34/“Will you carry me to bed?”

Steve was waiting for the other boot to drop. The other heavy black combat boot Billy seemed to wear when he went out to all his classes. Stomping across the doorway and over Steve’s heart, however cliche that may sound. 

He groaned out, twisting himself back in the blankets left warm by Billy’s lava hot body, thankful for his morning class being canceled today. Nuzzling his nose back into the covers chasing sleep he knew wouldn’t come. 

The words Steve heard at the beginning of the semester keep circling around his head with a heavier ferocity as the days ticked on. And days like this, where he’s running on a handful of hours of sleep and mostly cozy warm feelings from watching Billy sleep soundly, the rumors spun faster. Whispers about how he’s a jerk, walks around with no shirt on, maybe no pants, leaves beer cans crushed around his room. The type to hang a sock on the door knob to let you know he’s busy. 

Steve might as well have written down a list and was attempting to cross off each. Scratching through the paper with his red ink pen. 

He was just waiting for the sock on the door. Waiting to come back from class one day and find it propped up on the knob. It would hit him like a punch in the gut when he finds it. Maybe it will knock the wind out of him and knock him on his ass. Maybe Steve will deserve it. 

He taps his pen in a steady beat, matching Billy’s moving chest, as he sits on his own bed. His legs pulled up to squish his text book as close to his chest as possible. With a nervous tick, he slips his pen behind one ear and pulls his highlighter out from behind the other one. 

Focuses on his books. Doesn’t focus on the way Billy licks his finger before he turns a page. 

They are laying together on their combined beds. Still technically on their own beds, but Billy is laying sprawled out. A lion in the sun. One leg hooked over the side and one arm curled over the back of his head so his elbow almost touches Steve’s pillow. And a thick copy of some pulpy crime novel open. 

Steve doesn’t understand the way he chooses books. One day it’s a classic, one of those teachers get on you about reading because it’s so important to understanding culture, and the next day he has a 10 cent paperback he must have gotten out of the library rummage bin. Steve worries his bottom lip as he thinks, as he watches, as he catalogues and tries to understand more with the information he’s given. 

“You okay over there, Stevie?” Billy’s voice is raspy from not using it all morning. He doesn’t look away from his paperback. 

It’s Sunday, and Steve’s not really okay. But he gulps down and shakes his head. Attempts to find on his text book page where he left off. 

“I’m good, man. What’s up?” Steve mumbles. 

“Just seems like you are having trouble focusing, is all,” Billy replies. He turns then just enough to look at Steve and just enough to make his bicep pillowing his head flex beautifully. “My offer to help with work when you get stuck still stands you know?”

Steve pouts. Pretends to think about it. “I’m not stuck, actually. That paper I finished yesterday. Don’t even have an assignment to work on right now.”

Billy seems to pause. Looks him up and down. Steve shivers. “You,” he drags the letters, “don’t have any assignments due? And you are still studying like that?” His tone is light, humorous, he’s making fun of him. 

The highlighter skids across the page harshly, Steve’s scratching off another line of Billy’s rumor list. “Don’t want to fall behind,” Steve gets out meekly. 

“All work and no play makes Stevie a dull boy,” Billy sing songs out, laying his book flat on his curvy, hairy chest and smirking. 

Smirking like he knows Steve’s growing red in the ears not because of the joke, but because of the way he follows the dips of Billy’s pecs to where his golden chain lays there he never takes off. The white pages of the book make Billy’s tan skin that much darker. More out of reach. 

“Why don’t you head out some time? We are in college, y’know. That means frat parties, free beer, hot chicks,” one of Billy’s well manicured dark brows raise, “hook ups!” he says with a wink. 

Steve lets his highlighter drop to the blanket with a thud. He nervously runs his hand up to his hair. It’s gotten long, he hasn’t been keeping up with it, the hair pin he is using to keep his bangs off his forehead feels lopsided when he runs his hands over it. “Not really my scene anymore.” He winces as soon as he says it. 

Somehow, Billy doesn’t bite. Instead he scoffs, shakes his head. “That’s everyone’s scene.”

“Not mine-,”

“I know a night. Tomorrow actually, the guys over at Alpha are putting some celebration on for a frat brother. It’s going to run all night.” Billy doesn’t seem to mind he interrupted Steve. Billy doesn’t seem to mind he has Steve backed uncomfortably into a corner. God, he’s a jerk. 

“Lots of hot girls show up at house parties. Plenty of bitches in the sea, pretty boy like you won’t have anything to worry about.” 

Steve wanted to cry, to laugh, scream maybe at the absurdity of it. His crush trying to set him up to get laid. Offering him a time and place even to release some stress. 

Steve bit his lips, sucked them into a tight line, and just watched as Billy lost interest with staring him down. 

The other turned and shrugged. Mumbled something like ‘your loss’ under his breath Steve pretended not to hear. He shuffled to crawl off the foot of the bed so as not to touch Billy, and sat back at his desk. 

That night Steve didn’t sleep. Billy didn’t have any nightmares, no recoiling from phantom hits or moaning in his sleep. No reaching for something that’s lost. He slept peacefully and easy. 

Steve flexed his fingers over his text books. He wishes he knew why Billy could sleep and why he still struggled with it. Why has it gotten worse sense they’ve been sleeping together. Well, no, not sleeping together. Sleeping next to each other. 

2 in the morning finds Steve crawling back onto the bed. He wants to try and sleep even if he knows he can’t. He pulls the covers up to his chin and turns to watch Billy. He’s laying on his side, facing at Steve. His eyes closed in sleep, his mouth slightly open, naked chest thrumming gently. 

Steve’s laying on his side, facing at Billy. He lays awake all night. Thinks about beer, house parties, chicks. Billy’s hand on the back of a girl’s neck. 

Class the next day is painful. He’s exhausted. He can feel it. Steve drags his feet as he goes to the cafeteria. Then to class he rests his chin on his hand and tries to keep his eyes open. The professor walking in circles around him with a metal retractable pointer just waiting to smack it across his desk if he finally does. 

Steve doesn’t, drinks a coffee down to the cardboard bottom instead. Drinks the grounds at the bottom with the last gulp. 

The hallway to their dorm was narrow. Steve clutched tightly at the strap of his messenger bag hanging across his chest. Bringing the canvas material to his body like he could use it as a pillar to steady himself. He swayed once, twice, then grabbed for the wall. His hand smacking against the drywall sounded a lot like how he imagined his professor’s metal pointer would sound like. Stung like a bitch on his open palm. He shivered, lifting himself slightly even through the stinging pain. 

Steve was about two doors down from his own room. Every door closed up tightly. Time waxing into the afternoon had everyone in class. Or loitering in the library. Or standing in the cafeteria trying to get the last banana nut muffin. 

Or going to the Alpha Pi frat house to drink any pent up anger away. To burry any longing, or pining, or yearning into a bed warmed by a stranger. 

Steve clutched the wall harder. Clutched the strap on his bag hard enough to dig into his collar bones painfully. He felt a lurch of hurt well up inside his stomach. A tight fist punching its way up his throat and to the backs of his eyes. Making them prick with tears. 

Steve considered how he shouldn’t be here. Billy was going to come back from his party with a girl on his arm, smiling with pretty long hair and womanly curves. Not like his choppy hair left unkept. Not like his body thin and withering away with how much he doesn’t eat. How much he doesn’t sleep. 

Billy was going to come back with a pretty girl and hang a sock on the door knob meaning do not disturb. 

His short nails scratched the wall as he let his body slip down to rest on the floor. Steve decided he should just stay here, politely, if he wanted to help Billy he’d stay out of his way. 

And the floor didn’t feel that bad. The carpeting on the hallway was surprisingly plush for a dorm building. He assumed it would be rough to the touch and dirty. Instead, as he sinks to his knees and runs one hand across it, the other supporting his forehead from leaning on the wall, the carpet feels soft. 

“Steve?” There’s a short cut off startle of a call from down the hallway. 

Looking up tiredly, Steve realizes his vision has gone a little blurry. He doesn’t notice it’s Billy walking towards him until he’s right next to him. Making Steve eye level with his ripped blue jeans. 

“What are you doing out here, pal?” Billy says softly, kneeling down to make his face eye level. He’s got a worried expression, a cute green beanie on his wild hair, and a large brown shopping bag hanging off his arm. 

Steve opens his mouth to reply but nothing comes out. The words man, and dude, and pal, all scratching at this tongue to form. To relax Billy and let him know it’s nothing, nothing is going on. Don’t worry about me. But they don’t form. 

The only words he can seem to wrestle out his tired mind is, “Billy, that hat looks good on you.”

It makes Billy laugh at least. But it doesn’t solve the question/answer problem. “Thanks, man. But seriously, why are you laying out here in the hallway?”

Steve grumbles, turns and burrows his face wholly into his arm holding him up on the wall. “Didn’t wanna infringe on your banging,” he talks into his sleeve. 

Billy’s brows furrow deeper. “What?” he asks leaning forward to hear. 

“Don’t want to interrupt you banging some hot chick!” Steve yells out. The hallway seems to pick up his voice and carry it around in an echo. Spinning over the top of Billy’s green beanie round and round until it makes his face sour. 

“Banging some chick, what chick? What are you taking about, Steve?” He asks, but only for two seconds Billy holds on a serious tone before his words melt into chuckles. Slightly mulled by laughter. He’s making fun of him again. 

“The party,” Steve sighs out. He lets his eyes drop. He’s so tired. 

“I wasn’t gonna go to that lame party. Haven’t been to one all semester, I think.” Billy pauses to smirk, his laugher coming down a little. “I only suggested it to you because you seemed lonely.”

“Lonely?” Steve parrots back. He feels the tears start to tug at his eyes again. How could he have missed that implication, Billy did it to try and help him. 

“Yeah you just-,” he cut himself off. Closing his mouth abruptly. His glossy red lips and bushy blond mustache bouncing. 

Billy shook his head, the longer curls escaping from the back of his hat moving with it, before starting again. “I was only out shopping for some drinks,” Billy motions towards the brown shopping bag. It’s heavy. Heavy like Steve’s eye lids as he blinks at it. 

“Shopping,” he repeats dumbly. 

“Yeah I got some herbal tea and some lavender candles. Read in a health journal the librarian showed me that sometimes these can help people who’re restless get to sleep. Relax their minds from racing around all night long.” Billy spoke nonchalant. Like he hadn’t admitting to studying Steve right back, to researching how to help and watching, cataloguing him. 

Steve watched him. Looked into those blue eyes that softened on the edges not with humor, or mocking, but a boyish gentleness that struck right into the core of him. He watched Billy, and Steve felt seen back. 

Steve opened his mouth, nothing came out, then he closed it again. He struggled with the words. With making his tongue wake up inside his mouth. Steve rubbed his forehead against his arm before he tried again. 

“I can’t,” he whispered out, “I can’t walk. I’m really... really tired.” 

Billy kept watching him. His eyes flicked down to search Steve’s folded legs, then they came back up. 

“Billy,” Steve closes his eyes before he asks, “will you carry me to bed?”

Billy gives him a scoffing noise and Steve for a moment thinks he’s going to be laughed at again, but it’s not that way at all. There’s a rustling of paper as the bag is lifted higher on Billy’s shoulder, and then the feeling of two arms moving around Steve’s torso. 

“Of course, man, don’t even gotta ask,” Billy’s got a smirk back on his face, Steve doesn’t need to see it to know. He can hear it. His voice playful as he wraps his arms around Steve’s waist and hefts him upwards. 

“Ah,” Steve can’t stop the groan that leaves him. He cups his hand over his mouth but the sound is gone. His legs hurt much more than they had before he sank to the floor. Muscles strained as they work to stay upright. 

The only think really holding Steve up was Billy’s arms, those biceps, tanned skin, flexing under the shirt hard as if to rip the fabric. Steve shakily rested his hand over one, trembling as he curled his hands around the warm skin. Warm to the touch, lava red, just like how he daydreamed. He dropped his other hand from his mouth and did the same on Billy’s other arm. Letting the other steady him. 

“I’m gonna pick you up now, yeah?” Billy says. And Steve nods to him as much as he does himself. Yes, they are heading home. Simply working to go back to the room. It’s not like they are slow dancing together in the middle of the dorm building’s hallway. 

“Yeah,” Steve croaks. 

He closes his eyes as he feels Billy’s grip on his waist tighten, then Billy’s lifting his weight with a cock of his hips. Steve scratches Billy slightly as he wraps his arms around his neck to steady himself. Short fingernails digging across the unbuttoned collar of his shirt desperately. 

“Wrap your legs around me,” Billy orders him. Steve does just as he’s told, wraps his legs around Billy’s hips and locks his ankles over his ass. Wraps his arms tight around Billy’s neck and lets his forehead drop tiredly onto Billy’s shoulder. 

There’s no grunts of annoyance, no struggle, as Billy turns in the hallway and starts walking down to their room. His steps are heavy and wide; like a cowboy. The bag swings noisily next to Steve’s legs and bumps into him but it doesn’t give. Doesn’t mess anything up. Billy even manages to fish his keys out his back pocket to unlock the door without a hitch. 

“You’re so light I could carry you all day,” he says easily as he pushes the door open. As if reading Steve’s mind. 

He walks them to the bed. His bed, pushed against Steve’s bed. But Billy stands over his bed as he leans over and lays Steve’s back over the unmade blankets. 

Steve unlocks his arms and ankles, letting his body go limp and lucid as he sinks into the bed. The blanket is cozy, soft even when it doesn’t look it, and it smells serene as the ocean. Fresh sandal wood, and something darker, something Billy. Steve turns his whole body into the blanket. 

Billy just laughs as he wrestles off Steve’s messenger bag. Tossing it on his desk and reaching to take off Steve’s sneakers. He drops them by the door, Steve listens too the second shoe’s thud on the wooden floor and it hurts. He keeps his face burrowed in blankets. Not wanting to look. 

Wants to fall asleep right there. Instead he finds he can’t. Instead, he listens to shuffling around. Billy moving things in the dorm isn’t new. The paper bag crinkles as he lets it drop to the ground. There’s a ripping of tape, some water pouring, and then seconds tick by silently until Steve hears a distinct hissing noise. 

He arches his back with a low moan before he has the strength to lift his head. Billy’s over by the mini fridge where he has a heated water pitcher plugged in and steaming away. There’s polkadots on the pitcher. Cute lavender and teal. Steve crosses his arms over his face to bite into his skin. He can feel his hair wild around his face, hopes it helps to hide his desperate blush. 

Billy pours the hot water into a travel mug over a bag of tea with almost a hissing noise. He watches with a care on his face that Steve can’t look away from. 

Billy cups the old travel cup in his hands, a scratched up plastic thing from a gas station that’s been on the floor as much as it’s been it use. But he looks at it like he cares. Like this will help. Like he wants to help. He turns the same eyes up to Steve who feels trapped in ocean blue colored spotlights. 

“Uh, it’s hot- but here ya go?” Billy nods down to his hands. 

Steve’s arms are heavy. Dead weight. His body might as well be a sack of rice molting into the indent of Billy on the mattress. He isn’t getting up to reach for that cup. 

“Don’t be nervous, you can come closer,” Steve says. He sounds like a love sick fool, he huffs and pushes his forehead into the blanket before he changes his tactics. 

“I mean, I’m just exhausted, Billy. I’m dead, basically dead. Can you just,” he balls his hand in the blanket and pulls to revel the sheet under. “Can you come lay down?”

Billy’s got a strange upturn on his lips as he sets the cup down. Flicks off the water pitcher and flicks on the lava lamp. The red swirling into his golden curls. Almost as devilish as his smile. Almost as red as Steve’s cheeks as Billy comes to stand by the side of the bed. 

“Like this, pretty boy?” He asks. He waits until Steve nods then slides into the small space of his own twin sized bed. 

Steve uses the excuse that he can’t move to not move over, even an inch. Billy shuffles gently under the covers. Lifting the blanket over both of them. He brings the hem up to Steve’s shoulders, he’s laying on his stomach, and drags heavy thick fingers comfortingly up his back. Curls them over the nape of Steve’s neck. Tangles them with the longest hairs there. 

Billy’s turned on his side. He’s close enough so their breath ghosts across the other’s cheeks. If Steve wanted to kiss him, he could stretch his neck an inch and land home. 

He breaths out his mouth to steady himself. Keep himself from stretching his neck. Stays melted under Billy’s red hot fingers playing with his hair. 

“Thank you,” Steve breaths. 

Billy smiles. “I’ve got you, Steve.” 

And he says it so easily. So soft and lazy like he’s said it a thousand times and would say it a thousand more. Steve closes his eyes and lets himself believe it to be true. 

Dreams about it being true. In the morning, when Billy is still laying down, and Steve wakes up from having the best night sleep he’s had in months. There’s a moment of silence he lingers on that dream. Touches each white tipped wave as it washes out to the beach shore of his memory. 

The moment stretches until Billy shuffles awake. Steve steadies himself, keeps his back rim rod straight, makes a study sheet in his head of how to regulate his panicked breathing when Billy leaves or kicks him out. Wonders which is going to hurt worse. Because he’s for sure getting one. 

Steve doesn’t expect it when Billy smiles wide, and bends over just an inch to kiss him. His lips lazy and sleepy, slow, turned up on the sides with his smile. The kiss lasts a second, Steve’s eyes stay open the whole time. Billy backs away and blinks. 

His sunrise colored eyes flash with want, with seriousness in the way they turn up on the sides. His brows furrowing. Like he’s begging. Begging Steve to say something. 

Steve doesn’t have the energy, he’s still tired. The herbal tea smell lingers in the air. The shapes of the lava lamp crawling across the walls creating a serene cloud coverage around them. 

“Billy,” he forces himself to whisper, “you kissed me?” 

Billy closes his eyes. Steve can make out the freckles over his nose. The blush growing over their brown color brighter than his nightlight’s red color. 

“Yeah, I did. You just looked, really pretty,” Billy exhaled. Fluttering his long lashes back open to watch Steve again. Watches his wide brown eyes get wider. 

“Can I kiss you again?” Billy asks. 

Steve smiles. Blinks away the tears trying to form in his eyes. His exhaustion giving way to a relief that sweeps over his aching limbs. “Yeah, yes,” he giggles, “please,” he gets shut up by those cherry red lips pressed against his again. 

Steve closes his eyes this time to savor it. Billy’s hand tightens on the back of his neck. The skin of his fingers soft feeling even when they don’t look it.


End file.
